


like the dawn you woke the world inside of me

by RainbowRandomness



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Falling In Love, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades and Persephone AU, Kissing, M/M, Time Skips, Underworld, not sure what to tag this with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 20:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16248890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: I was sleeping in the garden when I saw you firstHe'd put me deep, deep under so that he could workAnd like the dawn you broke the dark and my whole earth shookI was sleeping in the garden when I saw youHades and Persephone au, with Hank as Hades and Connor as Persephone





	like the dawn you woke the world inside of me

**Author's Note:**

> inspo found [here](http://cherryviolets.tumblr.com/post/177742758123/flower-crown-edited) and my ramblings found [here](https://tsunderehank.tumblr.com/post/178703820236/ive-got-another-dumb-idea-if-you-dont-mind-me)
> 
> this ended up being a lot longer than I initially thought it'd be so it took a couple days to write. hopefully it was worth it, I'm not very good at writing au's so fingers crossed this is still an enjoyable read 
> 
> gonna dedicate this fic to [lieutenant_hankypanky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieutenant_hankypanky) cause they left me a bunch of sweet comments on my other dbh fics and they made my day 
> 
> anyway, hope ya'll enjoy
> 
> Title from _Like The Dawn_ by The Oh Hellos

They say home is where your heart is; where it lives, and breathes, and loves.

Connor believes this. The Garden in which he wanders through has been his home for as long as he can recall, a safe haven for him to enjoy and take care of. The Garden is his to explore, to take in the sculpted beauty that his guardian created; it’s a place for him to tend to and look after, ensuring that the trees grow strong and tall, and the roses grow in vibrant colours that the mortals could never imagine possible.

This is his home, where he is safe. A place created for him to live and roam free in.

He never questions what lies beyond the Garden that was made for him.

He never thinks to leave.

-

There is a man in his Garden.

Connor notices him when he glances up from tending to the roses, collecting a bouquet together to arrange into a vase on the island. He pauses in his movements, head cocking to the side when he spots the dark silhouette watching him from within the woods that surround the perimeter.

The trunks of the trees are thick, the woodland dense. Darkness encroaches where the sun's light cannot reach through the expanse of leaves, and it is in the shadows that the man lurks, almost concealed from sight.

Connor sees him though; a ray of light from the dying sun dances through the thick forest to reflect against the intricate designs that adorn the man’s black robes, silver and deep blue patterns covering the dark cloth like ancient tapestry. There are swirls of darkness framing the stranger, as though they emit from him. They lick at the black gauntlets covering his arms, caress across his strong hands, and shroud the ground he stands on in smoke. Even across the wide distance that separates them, Connor can feel the power radiating from him, and knows with certainty that a God has visited his realm.

Connor blinks, curious. He steps towards the man without thinking, already beginning to walk across the bridge when the man’s eyes meet his and Connor stops in his tracks, frozen to the spot.

Despite the distance, Connor can make out the piercing blue of the stranger’s eyes. He feels pinned by them, as though a spell has been uttered to render him still, and he finds he cannot look away. He grips the roses in his arms tightly and feels his breath stuttering in his chest under the intensity of the man’s gaze.

It isn’t until the man retreats into the shadows and disappears out of sight that Connor feels he can breath again.

-

“A God visited the Garden yesterday.”

Amanda glances at him from where she is tending to the wall of roses on the island. Though her posture appears relaxed and open, Connor can see the sharpness to her gaze and the way her grip has tightened around the stem of a rose.

“Who was he?”

There’s a beat of silence following his inquiry that lasts too long. It makes him want to fidget, the rose held between his fingers beginning to twirl in his grasp as he fiddles with it restlessly. He almost believes that Amanda won’t answer him before she decides to speak again.

“The Ruler of the Underworld,” she states his title calmly, returning her gaze to the flora, “He watches over the Underworld and escorts the Dead from the mortal realm into his own.”

She releases her grip from the stem of the rose and moves to tend to another one; Connor doesn’t miss the drop of blood that drips from her fingers where she had gripped the stem too tightly.

“He shouldn’t have come here.”

His guardian doesn’t look at him when she utters the words, concealed anger hidden behind her controlled tone. Connor stares at her back, watching her work methodically to tend to her roses, and thinks of the man hidden amongst the trees.

-

It is some time before the man returns.

Amanda is elsewhere, tending to duties Connor is not yet privy to. He doesn’t mind; he’s never lonely in the Garden, despite the fact he and Amanda are the only ones to live in this realm. Amanda assures him that the Garden was made for him and him alone; the other God’s do not visit, and when Amanda is needed, she visits their domains instead.

Connor finds he is often left alone. It’s never something that has bothered him; he occupies himself by tending to the flora, admiring the creatures that reside in the water or the trees branches. Sometimes he simply walks along the paths that wind their way around the Garden, his attention only every so often drifting towards the inviting woodlands edge.

It is as he is making his way along the cobbled path that Connor finds himself glancing towards the forests entrance and stops short, his eyes finding the man’s instantly. They’re as strikingly blue as they had been when Connor had first seen them and he finds his breath hitching the moment he and the stranger lock eyes.

He’s closer than before, only a small distance between himself and the man at the trees edge. He can see more clearly now the details of the man; broad shoulders hidden beneath a shawl coloured like charcoal, silver hair that brushes just beneath his sharp jawline, his mouth resting in a well worn scowl. There are dark bruises beneath his sharp eyes, and markings marring the skin of his arms, reminiscent of ink curling like cursive on old parchment.

Dark smoke shrouds the man like a cloak, and though Connor is sure he should feel scared by the man’s presence, he is not. He turns to face the man where he’s standing on the path and regards the man, head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

“Hello,” he begins, hands moving to clasp behind his back. He bows his body minutely towards the man in greeting before standing straight again. “My name is Connor.”

The man doesn’t move from where he’s standing amidst the trees and his scowl doesn’t falter. Connor thinks better than to offer his hand out for the man to shake and instead keeps them clasped behind him, squeezing his own hand nervously. He lets an easy smile tug at his lips, hoping to make the God before him relax in his presence.

“Amanda told me you’re the God of the Underworld,” he tries again, hoping to coax the man into conversation. He can feel the intensity of the man’s gaze watching him, and his heart flutters in his chest under the scrutiny. “But she didn’t tell me your name.”

When the man does not reply, Connor moves as if to step towards him, though the action only causes the man to take a step backwards, moving further into the shadows. The smoke that clings to his large frame suddenly thickens and a spike of fear shoots through Connor like a bolt of lightning at the sight. He steps forward, fearful that the man may disappear again like he had before, and reaches a hand out towards the man and pleads softly, desperately, “Please, don’t go.”

The man stops, the smoke around him dissipating in its intensity. Connor’s fingers flex where his hand is held in the air between them and he brings the hand to his chest, rubbing at his own wrist in a nervous tick. The fear that had struck him and burrowed its way beneath his ribs disperses only slightly, though some still clings to him like a sticky oil, coating his bones and making him feel restless.

His fear must be obvious in his eyes and the knit of his brow, because the man moves back towards the edge of the woods. He still hides himself amongst the trees, not moving beyond the tree line, though having him step closer again loosens some of the tension in Connor’s chest threatening to drag him under. He tries for another smile, smaller this time, and asks almost hesitantly, “What’s your name?”

There’s a beat of silence. Connor holds his breath and waits.

“Hank,” the man speaks at last, and his voice is a deep rumble that reminds Connor of thunder and raging waves crashing against jagged rocks, “My name is Hank.”

The smile comes easier now, relief flooding through him and expanding his lungs. He releases the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Hank” he says, testing the weight of the name on his tongue, the way his lips wrap around the sound.

He doesn’t miss the way Hank’s lips twitch slightly into the imitation of a smile. It only makes Connor’s grin widen.

-

Hank appears in the Garden more often after that. It’s always when Amanda is away, though Connor doesn’t mind. He prefers it when it’s just the two of them, and finds himself feeling light and giddy whenever Amanda tells him she’ll be leaving for a while. He tries not to let the excitement show on his face, stifles the grin that threatens to bloom on his face at the knowledge that Hank will visit him when she’s gone.

“I’ll be back soon,” his guardian promises, caressing one of the blossoming pink flowers that adorn his headpiece. Her fingers are a light touch against the soft petals and then she is gone, disappearing in the blink of an eye beyond the trees.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The moment that Amanda is gone Connor feels a shift in the air, a radiating power reaching out and seeking him. The now familiar sensation makes him smile, and he turns away from where his guardian had vanished from sight to head towards the woods where he knows Hank will be waiting for him.

When Connor finds him, Hank is sat beneath one of the towering trees, his back against its thick trunk. There’s a knife in his hand and one half of a pomegranate in the other. Lazily, he uses the knife to scrap its seeds from its insides and Connor comes to sit beside him, folding his legs beneath him as he does so.

“A pomegranate?” he questions, glancing up towards Hank. The God beside him grunts, dislodging another bundle of the rich seeds from their fruit. They fall onto a dark piece of cloth lain across Hank’s lap, and Connor watches, unable to help but compare their colour to that of the roses that bloom across the Garden.

“They’re plentiful in the Underworld,” Hank says after a moment, still carving away at the seeds. The knife's blade glints in the evening light of the Garden, red sticky juice slicking its sharp edge. Connor resists the temptation to reach out and run his tongue along the blade, though he cannot help but lick his lips at the thought of the taste of the fruit.

“Will you ever take me to the Underworld?” he questions, averting his eyes from the knife in favour of looking up at Hank’s face.

He sees the moment Hank stills in his movements, his brow pinching downwards in a frown as the knife lodges beneath the seeds but does not remove then. Though his voice is a low rumble when he speaks, Connor hears him clearly from where he is sat leaning by his side.

“No.”

Connor feels his own lips tug down into a frown. Something wells in his chest, stinging and sharp, and he leans closer to Hank, trying to catch the man’s eyes.

“Why not?”

“You are not meant for the Underworld,” he replies gruffly, his voice stern as though what he has said should end the conversation. He twists his wrist to flick the knife, seeds spilling down into his lap.

Connor watches the seeds, his mind turning. He moves, shifting until he is sat in front of Hank instead of beside him, and reaches out towards the pomegranate seeds held in his lap.

Hank catches his wrist before he can do anything. Connor’s eyes snap up to meet Hank’s and his breath stutters when he realises the man has leant forward, until their faces are merely a few inches apart. Connor can feel his breath ghosting across his skin when he speaks.

“Don’t touch them,” he all but snarls, pressure increasing a fraction against Connor’s wrist.

His grip is powerful, and Connor’s bones feel delicate beneath his grasp. Though he knows Hank wouldn’t hurt him, he can feel his heartbeat thrum under Hank’s palm, his heart beating erratically beneath his ribcage like a trapped and frightened bird. He tries to keep his expression neutral, despite knowing that Hank can hear Connor’s pulse under his fingers, beating against his large palm.

“Am I not allowed to eat the fruit of the Underworld?” he questions, attempting to keep his tone light. He waits patiently for Hank to release his wrist and, eventually, after a tense moment of Hank staring him down, he does, all but pushing Connor away. Connor sits back, attempting to put some small distance between them to make Hank feel more at ease. He waits for an answer to his question, despite having his own suspicions to the answer.

Hank scowls at him as though he knows this. “No, you can’t.”

Connor allows a moment of silence to blanket them, the only sounds to be heard in the Garden coming from the gentle breeze and the lapping of the water nearby. He runs his fingers through the grass beside him and then shifts, leaning forward. He doesn’t reach for the seeds again.

“I see,” he murmurs, sparing a contemplative look towards the seeds. When he looks up, Hank’s blue eyes are already watching him, and he gives the old God a soft smile.

“Please consider it, Hank,” he says, voice gentle. When he reaches out, it is to rest his hand against Hank’s wrist.

Hank watches his movements with caution guarding his eyes. Connor doesn’t take offence, especially not when he presses his fingertips against Hank’s wrist and feels the way his pulse thrums under his touch.

-

His fingers had felt sticky after bypassing the fruit, fingertips skimming along its insides briefly to collect the juice on his skin.

It is only when Hank is gone that he presses his fingers to his lips, parting them as he slips the digits inside his mouth and sucks the juice from them. His eyes close as he relishes in the sharp taste that assaults his tongue and he finds himself stifling a moan that threatens to slip from his throat.

He opens his eyes, removing his fingers from his mouth. He licks his lips, hoping to taste another drop of the fruit, and watches as the sun sinks behind the trees.

-

It takes time to convince Hank to allow Connor to come with him to see the Underworld. He fights him on it constantly, refusing Connor’s requests to visit and telling him repeatedly that it’s not a place where Connor belongs. Still, Connor persists, mentioning it every so often when Hank visits until one day the man beside him sighs, leaning forward to place his head in his hands.

Connor can’t see his expression; Hank’s hair drapes itself like a curtain to hide his face, and Connor waits patiently for him to sit back up and look at him. When he does, it is with a resigned expression adorning his face.

“Alright,” he says quietly, and offers his hand.

He doesn’t hesitate to slip his hand in Hank’s, and though the smoke that bleeds from the God beside him should be frightening, all Connor can feel is excitement as it envelops them both in its cold embrace.

-

Connor opens his eyes to a forest of birch trees and mist. His hand is still in Hank’s and when Hank moves to stand, Connor moves with him, neither of them letting go.

“It’s…”

Connor looks around them as if in a daze. There are orbs hovering in the air above them, pulsating with light as they drift against the wind, and the trees surrounding them glow ethereally, as though the spirits themselves have gifted the bark with their luminosity. Connor can see fireflies dancing between the trees and through the surrounding fog, the blue of their bodies light blinking in and out of sight through the mist.

Connor shudders as he feels the fog that covers the ground curl around his bare feet, licking at his skin. A moment later he feels Hank’s hand slip from his and he opens his mouth to protest, but stops short when Hank removes his shawl and moves to drape it around Connor’s shoulders, his large hands smoothing the thick material down over his arms and his chest.

“There,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. Connor feels himself shudder again, though for completely different reasons, and he wills his heart to slow down where it beats quickly beneath the warmth of Hank’s palm.

It’s the closest they’ve ever been. Connor can feel Hank’s breath ghost along his skin, can feel the heat emanating from the proximity of his body, from where his hands rest against Connor’s chest above the shawl. From this close up, Connor can see the various shades of grey in his beard, the hint of colouration in his cheeks, and the long length of his eyelashes.

Connor’s eyes dart down to trace the shape of Hank’s lips; he wonders idly how his beard would feel against his skin as they kissed.

“... beautiful.”

Hank’s eyes raise to meet his, and Connor feels warmth rise along his neck to blossom in his cheeks. He amends himself quickly, stuttering out a hurried, “The Underworld, it- it’s beautiful.”

He looks around them again and feels his own face soften in awe. “It really is… it really is breathtaking here.”

When he looks back towards Hank, he’s surprised to see a genuine smile on his lips, making his face appear softer and more relaxed. There’s a sparkle in the blue of his eyes that makes Connor swallow audibly, and at Connor’s surprised face, Hank’s smile only widens, until Connor can see the hint of his two front teeth and the small gap that rests between them.

Connor’s sure any breath he had in his lungs has been knocked from him in that moment, and he releases a shaky breath and smiles back.

“C’mon,” Hank says after another moment passes between them. He steps back from Connor and offers up his hand to him, smiling as Connor takes it willingly. He interlaces their fingers together and squeezes Connor’s hand gently.

“Let’s show you the Underworld.”

-

It takes a few visits before Connor meets Sumo.

The smoke clears from his vision, his feet planting themselves firmly in the deep blue grass at his feet. Through the fog that encases the forest, Connor hears the distant barking, and through the mist he sees an unmistakable silhouette.

“You have a dog!” Connor cries, face splitting into a smile when the large three headed dog appears, bounding through the woodlands to greet them. He tackles Hank first, jumping and licking at his owner in earnest, and something warm, something that Connor cannot help but think is affection, spreads through his chest at the sight before him.

Hank easily takes the weight of his pet and a grin takes over his face, as though he cannot help but smile at the canine as it attempts to cover him in wet kisses. His large hands ruffle the fur at the base of the dog’s neck, and when a tongue comes out to lick at his beard, a hearty chuckle rumbles through his chest and escapes past his grinning lips.

That warm feeling returns, flooding through Connor like water along a river, all consuming and able to knock the breath from your lungs. He feels his breath hitch as he watches them both, and when Hank turns, eyes searching for his, Connor is sure he stops breathing altogether.

The beauty of the man is blinding; Connor struggles to stifle the feelings attempting to overwhelm him and smiles back at the man, hoping his eyes do not betray his inner thoughts.

Though the way he sees Hank’s eyes soften, he can’t help but think he must know, must realise the emotions sweeping through Connor as he watches Hank affectionately ruffle the dogs fur and accept his kisses without complaint.

“Down Sumo, down,” he says eventually, his smile softer now, fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes. Connor watches the dog land back down on all fours, tongues lolling and adoration evident in its eyes as he stares up at Hank.

Connor reaches out a hand to stroke across the left head, scratching thoroughly behind his ear. The other two heads move to look towards him, the middle one leaning forward to sniff at his other hand. Connor pets him too, stroking gently and dragging his nails lightly through his fur.

“I like dogs,” Connor says, and looks up towards Hank again. He finds the man already watching him and smiles.

“C’mon,” Hank says after a few moments of Connor petting Sumo, “don’t spoil him, or he’ll never let you leave.”

He reaches down, takes Connor’s hand in his and pulls him along the forest path. Sumo follows happily, and Connor turns Hank’s words over in his head.

Never leaving didn’t sound so bad.

-

The Underworld is a beautiful place, more so than Connor could ever imagine. Though his Garden is beautiful, there is a breathtaking quality to the Underworld that he cannot identify.

Perhaps, he wonders to himself, it is the luminescent creatures that live in the dark waters and between the forest trees, or the chilly fog that encases the ground; perhaps it is the orbs that float through the air, the fireflies that dance through the trees, or the crystals embedded in the ground that sparkle as you pass them by.

He looks out over the river in front of them. Around his shoulders the heavy material of Hank’s shawl keeps him warm against the chill of the air; ever since his first visit, this shawl has been his to wear upon his visits and every time he smiles, warmth blooming within him when Hank drapes it around his shoulders and takes his hand.

Connor smiles to himself, hugging the shawl closer around his person. He dips his head, burying his nose into the dark fabric and breathes in the scent of the man sat beside him. The musk of the earth, of rich soil and dying grass, fills his nose, and when he breathes deeper he can begin to smell the dizzying fragrance of pomegranates, and something uniquely Hank that makes Connor lightheaded.

Maybe, Connor thinks to himself as he pulls away from the shawl and looks towards Hank, admiring the way the orbs glow illuminates his handsome face, the pull of this place is that this is Hank’s home.

Maybe it is seeing Hank relaxed within his own realm, sat beside the waters edge with his back against the trunk of a white tree, his features relaxed as he watches the water lap at the shore.

Connor smiles to himself again, resting his head against his bent knees. He watches the flickering light of the nearby orbs dance across Hank’s features, takes in the way the low light of the Underworld makes his silver hair shine. He admires the soft curve of his lips, the width of his shoulders and the dark tattoos that curl around his arms and disappear beneath the gauntlets wrapped around his forearms.

He lets his eyes wander over him, drinking in the sight of him, relaxed within his own home, and doesn’t miss the moment Hank turns to watch him back in turn, the sharp blue of his eyes beautiful in their intensity, fondness and warmth making them twinkle.

“Connor,” Hank says, and Connor shivers hearing his own name roll from the God’s tongue. He closes his eyes, and when he feels Hank’s lips against his, it’s like having life breathed into his lungs.

-

“You have to go.”

Connor knows he cannot stay.

“Please,” he whispers. He shifts beneath the sheets pooled around them, moving closer until his head is tucked beneath Hank’s chin, his ear resting against his bare chest. He can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and Connor closes his eyes, traces his finger in circular patterns across Hank’s warm skin.

“Let me stay.”

A beat of silence; Connor hears Hank’s heart skip a beat.

He sighs softly, content, when Hank wraps him in his arms again, drawing the covers closer to them.

“Okay,” he whispers into the dark, into Connor’s hair. He buries his nose into Connor’s curls, and sighs.

“Stay,” he says, and Connor does.

-

He doesn’t have to leave the Underworld to feel Amanda’s wrath. He knows that she has returned to the Garden and found him missing, can feel it in the way his skin grows cold with her grief and her mourning. He feels sick, his stomach twisting uncomfortably, and he knows he has to return home.

His stomach twists again; he looks towards Hank where he still lays beneath the covers, his eyes shut and his chest rising evenly. Connor wishes to crawl back beneath the covers and tuck himself into Hank’s side, closing his eyes against the sickness clawing its way through his stomach, his chest, up to his throat.

He knows he can’t. He turns away and closes his eyes.

“Connor.”

His voice is warm, understanding. Connor turns to face him and sees Hank’s blue eyes watching him, gentle and kind.

“It’s okay,” he says, “it’s time to go back.”

Connor feels tears prick at his eyes. He moves until he is back beneath the covers, tucks himself into Hank’s side. The sickness still claws at him, but it feels dull against the warmth of Hank’s arms as they wrap around him and hold him tight.

“You were not meant for the Underworld,” he says, as though he always knew this to be true.

Connor closes his eyes and presses his face against Hank’s chest. “I was meant to be by your side.”

He doesn’t miss the kiss pressed to his forehead a moment later; he stifles a sob and buries himself closer in Hank’s arms.

-

The juice of the pomegranate seeds burst against his tongue as he bites them, their sweetness coating his throat as he swallows. He shudders against their sharp taste and bites into the fruit again, until the juice runs down his chin and along his pale throat like blood, marking him.

He feels something shift within himself, as though a part of him is splitting in two. He takes in a shuddering breath, closes his eyes against the feeling, and sinks his teeth back into the rich and juicy seeds of the pomegranate.

-

“You ate the Fruit of the Dead.”

Amanda’s voice is sharp; it is not a question she asks, her sentence more a statement of fact. She already knows what Connor has done.

“Amanda-”

Her name has barely left his lips before she has turned, sudden and fierce, facing him with thunder in her eyes and rage in her bones. Connor fights the urge to step back, to cower against the storm that rages inside his guardian; she is not the only one fighting this battle.

“How could you?” she says, accusing, voice harsh.

“I gave you everything, created this Garden for you with my bare hands. And you throw it away, for what? To be chained to the Underworld, trapped in the darkness beneath the Earth?”

She moves towards him as she speaks, her steps measured and her eyes focused. Connor cannot help but think of a predator stalking its prey, drawing closer and waiting to strike. He does not move, does not back down; he draws his shoulders back and raises his chin as though bracing for a physical blow.

When she stands a mere few feet before him, she stops and stills. This close, Connor can see the shine of tears in her eyes and the silent hurt that lingers in the deep brown of her irises. It makes something in his chest ache, knowing that he’s hurt her by doing this, but there is a part of him, radiating warmth, fondness, affection, and love, that knows he cannot stay in the Garden forever.

“I love him,” he says, as simple as that. He utters the words like a confession, voice as gentle as the breeze that ruffles their hair, and as warm as the sun’s light that bathes their skin in gold. He speaks the words and feels his own chest expand, warmth radiating like a flame beneath his ribs, consuming him from the inside out until his lips turn up into a smile, as blinding and as dazzling as the sun itself.

He sees the surprise in Amanda’s eyes and watches as it fades and bleeds into something different, something Connor can’t quite define. When she closes the distance between them and gently cups his face within her palms, he struggles to keep his own surprise from widening his eyes.

“Oh Connor,” she says, something sad tainting her voice, as though she is mourning for something she has lost. She brings his head down and touches her forehead to his, resting there and closing her eyes.

“Please,” he whispers. Her thumbs caresses his cheeks as though catching stray tears, though he is not the one crying. “Let me go.”

Her palms are warm against his skin, her fingers trembling where they cup his cheeks. When he reaches up to brush away her tears, his hands are steady and smooth, his touch gentle where his fingers wipe away her grief. He feels the sigh that leaves her brush across his skin, shaky and resigned, and closes his eyes.

-

It’s not easy, though Connor never imagined it would be. Amanda cups his face and tells him to come back to the Garden, to not forget that it is there for him, that it is still his home. He holds her wrists and strokes his thumbs across the delicate skin that conceals her veins, thrumming with the beat of her heart. He kisses her forehead and tells her this is not goodbye.

When he steps back into the woods and finds himself enveloped in smoke, he is not scared. He knows he is returning to his new home, to be by his partners side. When he opens his eyes in the forest of fireflies, Hank is waiting for him, a smile on his face and Sumo at his side, the tongues of the three headed dog lolling from its mouths.

Connor grins and runs into Hank’s waiting arms.

-

They say home is where your heart is; where it lives, and breathes, and loves.

Connor believes this. The Underworld in which he wanders through has become as dear a home to him as his Garden. It is a safe haven for him to explore and enjoy, to take in its haunting beauty and delight in the secrets it hides beyond the mist. It is his to visit and his to stay in, another home that has claimed a part of him forever.

Connor feels the familiar weight of the shawl as it is draped around his shoulders, and he smiles as Hank’s lips press against his neck. The heat of his hands warms Connor’s skin through the fabric of the shawl, and he turns to face him, looking up into the intense blue of his eyes. He sighs, content, when Hank’s arms find their way around his middle, hugging him close.

“Connor,” he says, his voice a low rumble of thunder that Connor feels reverberate through his chest. Connor shudders at the sound of his own name rolling along Hank’s tongue, falling from his lips.

“Hank,” he says, breathing the word like a prayer.

This is his home, where he is safe. A place opened up to him to live and to be loved in.

“Kiss me,” he says, a command and a plea, and his eyes are already falling shut before Hank’s lips meet his and steal the breath from his lungs.

He never doubts his decision to join Hank in the Underworld.

He never wants to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site.


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